


Sayonara

by UlisaBarbic



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt Michelangelo (TMNT), Loss of Innocence, Michelangelo (TMNT)-centric, Trauma, first kill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlisaBarbic/pseuds/UlisaBarbic
Summary: Written for the Weekly Drabble TMNT. Theme was "mourning."First time is always the hardest.





	Sayonara

He was late.  
He knew it but he didn't care. He wasn't done yet. He needed to finish and his brothers and Father would just need to relax and deal with it. It was rare that Michelangelo took such a strong resolve but tonight, he had to. He needed to.   
He had no choice.  
Squeezing his eyes tight again, the youngest ninja shook his head. No good. The image was still there.   
Their first real night above ground. It had not been something their father had wanted but given the fiasco that had occurred when they were much younger and that poor boy they had hopelessly confused, he had deemed it a necessary evil to allow it. Oh, the shouts and cheers that had rung out upon that notification. It had been a loud, rambunctious celebration and Mikey doubted that any of his father's words beyond "I will allow it" had truly been heard, even by Leo.   
After all, it was a time to truly explore what they only had seen in their dreams before. To look and truly see the skyscrapers that loomed above them. To feel the warmth of real electricity (not that Don's was bad but it was hardly professional) and to get a good, close look at the weird humans that roamed above them every hour.   
Nothing had gone as planned. Nothing.  
They knew about humans. They knew about the violence and hatred that Father always spoke about with fervor.   
It was one thing to know and another to...know.  
It was to one thing to know what monster meant and another to...know....what monster meant.  
It was one thing to have seen what blades were capable of and another to see one swiped at your gentle hearted brother that would sooner retreat into his computer lab than hurt anything.  
It was another to see what damage a three pronged sai would do against flesh.  
It was another to see how easily flesh and cloth gave under a katana blade.  
It was another to see how a bone cracked upon being slammed against a bo.  
And it was another, entirely, to see eyes turn hazy and dark when a nunchaku met the back of a skull.  
Mikey would never forget that sound. Never, ever, ever.  
Maybe he didn't want to forget that sound.  
Maybe he wanted to remember so that he could make sure any time he made someone make that sound, it was because he had to.   
Opening his eyes, Mikey wiped at them, briefly. He didn't know who the human guy was. He just knew it was sad when he didn't get up again and by the way his body was lying and the way he looked, he knew that he never would again.   
Mikey didn't regret saving his brother Donnie. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.  
He just regretted that it took stopping someone else's to save Donnie's.  
"Mikey!"  
Turning, slightly, Mikey called "Yeah?"  
"Mikey! Let's go, numbskull. I don't wait Master Splinter any angrier than he already is."  
"Gotcha...on my way, Raph."  
He waited and listened for the telltale signs that his hot headed brother had stormed off and when they fell with slight echoes, he set his sights back before him.  
It was a simple little shrine. He didn't exactly have a lot to work with after all. Some found pieces of wood, decorated with simple paints and painstakingly put together as best he could. After all, he hadn't had a lot of time. He had come to this decision on his own, without any impact from his family.   
He needed to ask for peace for the man he killed.  
He didn't know his name, didn't know anything about him but he had been a man with a life. Who knew what he had? Maybe he had a family? Was he going to school? Was he a little brother, like him? Had he had siblings? A mother? School?--that was something Mikey had never had but...  
No. No, he couldn't lose himself in this spiral. Nothing came from it. Nothing.  
Deep breath in, deep breath out.   
He had to finish this. Father was waiting. His brothers were waiting.  
Shaking with nerves, Michelangelo finally pulled up his final piece. It was a small piece, one that he had done over several years. Art had always been his calling and he had become better and better at it but still, this one--of him and his brothers grinning and leaning on one another--had remained a favorite. As he set it up on his makeshift shrine, he felt his eyes grow wet again.  
This was how they had once been. Happy, smiling, laughing. Martial arts was fun and something that you strove to become better at for self improvement, something you tried to win Father's approval at, something that you learned because you were told to and for no other reason.  
Not anymore.  
Not after tonight.  
They'd taken lives tonight. They'd killed tonight. Those old stories they used to joke about being strong fighters and conquering bad guys, those were all old dreams, killed dreams.  
Just like the men lying in that alleyway.  
It didn't matter that it was self defense.  
It didn't matter that it was kill or be killed.  
They'd drawn blood tonight, for the first time and something had died in Mikey. Something had died in Donnie, in Leo and even in Raph though he would never admit it.  
Just as he owed it to their victims to mourn them, he felt it only proper --right-- to mourn the _other_ victims tonight.  
Bowing low to the ground, he let his eyes drift to that old picture, sparkling with old paints and the flickering of candles in the drafty wind of their simplistic home. Simple. Like things used to be. Like things were.  
Like things would never, ever be again, no matter how much he cried and prayed.  
He hardened his voice, though the tears still came.  
"Bye bye, old me. Old Brothers. Bye bye."


End file.
